The Outlier
by ErinLisaA
Summary: Ella grew up in Memphis, and even though she believed in the paranormal, she certainly wasn't expecting to encounter it. Follow Ella as she learns about the hunting world and strives to become a part of it. (Note: no boys in this story, sorry!) I have posted this story as ErLiAu on ao3
1. Central High's Resident Poltergeist

**Notes: **_This is my first story! Thanks to LilyBolt for hearing my idea and encouraging me to post it. I hope to continue this story for a long time. Now, I'm still new to all of this, so feel free to message me with any hints or ideas for the story. I don't have any plans for the Winchesters to be part of this, other than by word of mouth, because season 10 has not aired. As this takes place in modern day, give or take a few months, I have no plans in the near future of incorporating them (though I'll almost certainly slip in some references as this is a fic about the hunting world as a whole!) This chapter takes place A year before the rest of the story. Enjoy!_

Ben walks in front me, gripping the handle of the shotgun tightly. It feels weird to see him carrying a gun in our school, but I try to shake off the sentiment. I tread carefully, knowing the security cameras can see us, not wanting to be needlessly loud or fast. Hopefully we won't get caught - maybe they don't check the cameras every day.

We stop near one of the offending robots, which whirs a little melody as I watch it focus on us. I grimace as the beady eye, trapped in the black glass bulb, points right at me.

"The door to the fourth floor is probably locked." I mutter, setting down the duffel I'd had slung over my back. Ben unzips it and pulls out a rolled up leather case. It looks suspiciously like one of those thief kits you see on TV. "What is that?" I whisper urgently.

He looks up, a mischievous grin splitting his face. "Lockpicking kit. I got it in a pawn shop right before we moved. Best investment ever." He picks out two of the instruments and tiptoes to the door, testing the knob just in case before slipping the tools into the keyhole.

I begin to doze off, he struggles with the mechanism for so long. We'd snuck into the school before dawn broke, and through a distant window, I see golden light.

"Victory!" Ben says breathlessly as something clicks into place. He turns the knob again, and the door squeaks open. Flinching at the terrible sound, I join him, only to be faced by another obstacle.

Luckily, I'd expected this one. "Come on, Braeden. We gotta climb over." I pick up the duffel again, this time containing Ben's gun.

He's still staring at the precariously piled tables and chairs, but what he doesn't see is the neat succession of desks, connected to maroon and blue chairs, making a tunnel right up the treacherous flight.

Ben nods speechlessly, spotting me as I clamber on top of the first desk. I'm already halfway through the trundling journey when he finally jumps onto the desk, his short height making it a bit harder than it had been for me. For once, I'm glad I'm average height, though a good 5 or six more inches wouldn't have hurt.

I reach the top, where another set of double doors awaits me. I don't bother to check the handles, instead waiting for Ben to join me. My heart is pounding so loudly I'm sure the cameras on the flight below can hear it and are calling the police right now.

"Ready?" I ask quietly, my hands shaking as I hand him the shotgun and arm myself with a flashlight and three cans of rock salt–one in my hand, and another in each pocket of my hoodie.

Nodding at me, Ben reaches forward and turns the knob. It snaps off in his hand, and I'm about to start panicking when the door is whammed open.

On the edge of terror, we glance at each other, and he leads us in. My eyes flit to every shadow. Some look suspicious, but then I remember that the windows up here are caked in grime. My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I realize there's a constant ringing sound in my right ear, a humming in my left.

An old classroom door bangs open to our right, a cloud of dust surrounding us. Coughing wildly, Ben pulls his shirt up and over his nose. I zip my hoodie up completely, letting the normally flat collar cover my nostrils.

The survey of the room apparently goes well, as mere seconds later we're continuing down the hall. I begin to notice that it's similarly shaped to the ones below—a vague C. There are, of course, less staircases; the only one of the four with access to this floor is the one we came up. I peer into a couple of rooms. The ones on the outside of the hall, where windows would let in light if the dirt wern't so thick, are the same shape. However, I count extra classrooms on the inner sections, most likely due to the lack of stairs.

Our exploring is cut short when a locker, the paint peeling and chipping, slams shut. Several more follow suit, and suddenly we're frantic, running down the hall, and I don't even care as a cobweb hits my face, I just brush it away as best I can and sprint. I nearly run into Ben as he stops.

The humming and ringing are louder than before, combining to form words. No, not words. A name. "MonicaMonicaMonica," they mumble.

The syllables slip from between my shivering lips. "Monica?"

The sounds turn into a screech, and we hit the ground, hands so close to covering our ears but we can't. Ben can't drop his gun and I won't let go of our only light, or the canister, still unopened.

I feel a tap on my back. I'm about to turn and whack at the air with the light when I see Ben's face, and he's mouthing the words "salt circle" at me. I jerk my head up and down in understanding, my lungs bursting and I realize I haven't breathed properly for a good two or three minutes.

Carefully placing the flashlight in between us, I slide open the metal mouth to the salt, then trace a circle around us. It isn't perfect, far from it, but from what Ben's told me, it's not the circle part that matters as the "unbroken line." As long as both ends are connected, we're safe.

I try to give us room to move, and to my surprise, I'm successful; I am crouched near the edge, and Ben has scooted into the middle, flashlight now in his hand as he shines it on my work.

Satisfied that we can't be reached by the angry spirit, I relax enough for my heartbeats to slow. Making sure not to disturb the salt, I put down the container. Ben reaches into the bag and pulls out a little knife, sheathed in a leather holster.

"This is something that hunter I told you about showed me." He says, not bothering to whisper. "I soak it in holy water and salt everyday - hurts like a bitch when you cut a demon, and should dispel a spirit if you use it to disturb their form." He demonstrates, whipping it through the air, and I can just imagine a ghost tended helpless beneath his sweeping arm.

"Thanks," I croak. I grip the blade in my hand. "Do you know how to expel a poltergeist, anyway?"

A blush settles over Ben's face. "No, not really. There were a lot of suggestions on the Internet." He sipped a little water. "Most said something about burning it, but I figured we'd try the slightly safer and less arsonist route of convincing her to stop."

"Of course." I sigh, but I am smiling. He swigs even more water, and I stop him. "Don't drink too much at once."

He seems puzzled by this. "Why not?" He asks. "We brought a dozen. It's enough."

"Yes," I concede, "But that water goes somewhere. And we're trapped in a circle of seasoning." He immediately caps the drink, setting it down. I pull my empty bottle out and continue, "This can hold the, uh, waste."

He is red as a beet as he answers. I huddle in my section of the circle, and we discuss the classwork our teachers had assigned, despite the lack of school. We offer each other help with certain subjects, and contemplate the validity of a rumor that our end-of-course exams will be mailed to us at home, and a more popular gossip that every student would be required to repeat the year.

The discussion has continued for a long time; I don't have a watch, but Ben does, and he reads it. "It's been five hours since we came up here."

"That long?" I am surprised. "Part of me wishes I'd brought my phone."

Ben scoffs. "Yeah, and immediately get caught. GPS, Ella."

I wave the words away, leaning back. I begin to doze off. Without anything to amuse me, I'm restless. My napping is already fitful when Ben shakes my shoulder.

"Ella. Ella, behind you. Look!" I sit up, making sure not to disturb the salt, and turn my head.

I yelp, scrambling back, as best I can within a 3-yard wide circle and on all fours, as my eyes alight on a vague figure sitting just beyond our shelter.

"Monica Gonzalez?" I whisper, pointing at the figure. It nods… **she** nods. We stare at each other, the bodiless one flickering as her form becomes slowly more distinct. Her shapeless head soon distinguishes itself - this is hair, that is lip, and this is an eye. Within minutes I'm looking at a girl I somewhat recognize.

Never letting my eyes close or leave the specter, I reach into the duffel and pull out a book. It automatically flips to the page I'd studied so many times, the freshmen Es through Hs. Right in the middle, a beautiful black and white portrait is labeled with the name I'd breathed earlier.

Seeing my movement, the spirit, Monica, disappears, fading back into existence several feet back. Her mouth is open, and a vague whirring fills the air.

I point at the photograph, and say, "That's you. They still put you in the yearbook, even though you went missing three-quarters of the way through the year. That's you, Monica." I put down the book, hesitating before I say the next part of my speech.

"The woman we talked to about you, she said you were always sweet, and that you were intelligent. Everyone mourned your loss, and many didn't give up even after the police did."

Monica slips forward again, her hand reaching for me. I mirror her. "Please, stop hurting people. Your sister, your little sister, she's been contacted—your body will be given to her. She'll give you a proper send-off. You are loved, Monica."

A voice, young yet old, soft yet shrill, reverberates through the air. "Giselle?" I nod, my whole body shaking as the ghost considers my words. Relief floods me as Monica stands, the first true movement she's made. I stand with her. My weak legs protest, white noise wrapping around them, but I refuse to collapse as this force in front of me, unaccustomed to any type of physical movement, where I am constantly moving.

"Thank you." Monica's voice hangs in the air around us, and she walks down the hall. An electrification in the air subsides, something I'd not even noticed, and the little hairs all over my body are flat for the first time in a long time.

Satisfied, I do fall, my hands scattering the salt. I brush off Ben's fluttering hands, nodding my head as he asks if I'm okay. Recovering from my first encounter, my first, successful encounter, I crawl over the edge of the line. Ben follows, grabbing our equipment.

He helps me up, and supporting me, guides me through the hall. I stop him, and turn around. "Let's go back."

I pick my way back the way we've come, and finally, find what I've been looking for. I stand in front of the heavy doors, so like the others around the school.

Ben catches up to me, panting, "Another staircase?"

"Not just any staircase. This leads to the roof." I test the handle, and the rusted metal breaks off in my hand. I push the barricade with my shoulder, and as soon as I brush against it, it gives way. The door at the top reacts similarly, but a shiny chain and padlock are joining it to the other door. Ben takes out a lock pick and teases it, and we finally walk onto the roof.

"Why are we here?" Ben asks me. I stare at what's in front of me.

Tilting my head in his direction, I inform him, "There's a rumor about a swimming pool on the roof." Ben breathes a small "oh," and we walk forward together.

Sitting down, I hang my legs into the empty basin, the tiles beneath my feet now gray. Swiping my hand across a patch near me, they show their true color - pale blue. Ben whistles, and I laugh.

"It's real. The swimming pool is real." I observe the rest of my world, more chuckles bubbling from the depths of my heart. Hysteria claims me as I slide down into the dip. "It's real!"

Ben stares at my behavior, shaking his head. He is watching the sun sink below the horizon. "Ella, we've been gone nearly the entire day. We need to leave."

Twirling absently in the deep end, I say giddily, "Let them find us."

**Notes: **_Thanks for reading! Next time on **The Outlier**, Ella looks back on her hectic year. Please leave a review and follow for more! I'll try to respond to reviews :)_


	2. I Solemnly Swear I Had No Clue

**Notes: **_Thanks to LilyBolt for helping me bounce this idea off of her and for leaving a review (not to mention a warning that the formatting had gone wrong. Darn Macs!). This chapter, we get to the meat, and this takes place in about December of 2014, by my estimations._

It'd been a stressful year.

It all began with the dead body they found in the school. Identified as former student Monica Gonzalez, it had been in an old freezer since 1983. She'd gone missing in '81. She had one surviving family member, a sister named Giselle.

We all thought that was it. Nobody expected the girl's spirit to hang around. But that's exactly what happened. She began hurting teachers, trying to send the message that she was still there. Monica was furious.

We'd been out of school for weeks, and no more people had been hurt. Most teachers had taken their classes onto the Internet, where they posted assignments and notes for their students. My fellow seniors and I were told we'd be top-priority; we would definitely be graduating on time, and we'd still be able to get in the college of our choice. Didn't change the fact that we were livid.

One thing I wasn't expecting, though, was the new boy. Ben had only recently moved to Memphis, yet he was the first person besides the police to investigate what had happened. He came to me with it, and we found out from a former student about the fourth floor.

There were maybe two or three months left until the "school year" was supposed to end. We gathered the materials we'd need—salt, shotguns, empty rounds to pour the first item into. Ben even equipped me with a special knife.

I didn't want to use violence, so I didn't. I sat down and talked to Monica, showed her some of the stuff I'd brought. A yearbook with her picture, an official police report I'd gotten hold of showing that her body would be left with her sister, who would most certainly treat her well.

And so, even though Ben had said it would be a "salt and burn," in other words lighting a corpse on fire, I was able to negotiate with a poltergeist.

I still got into my favorite university, still got my full-tuition scholarship. I'd expected to leave the hunting world behind. Ben didn't want me to at first. Finally, we compromised. When I graduated college, he and I would team up and expel poltergeists all over the country. He would've been two years out of high school by then.

College started off pretty great. My roommate seemed cool—a sweet girl, African American, with long, natural, springy hair. Her name was Aaliyah. She'd grown up in Alabama, and she wasn't used to Memphis. I took her to all my favorite haunts, and she said I should visit her hometown.

By the end of the semester, Aaliyah decided to move rooms. We had frequent arguments; she liked to stay up late, and I preferred to keep an early-to-bed, early-to-rise schedule. We decided we could still be friends, but that she and another person would switch rooms. We always talked, and our friendship only grew.

To my surprise, my new roommate was even better. She respected my boundaries, and even though she stayed up late, she wasn't loud like Aaliyah had been. Her name was Rebecca, but she asked me to call her Bec. I respected that—I myself prefer to be called Ella, instead of Isabella, Izzy, or Bella. We probably first bonded over that similarity.

Bec was always nice. Even though she and I were polar opposites, we never fought—if we disagreed, we decided that both were right in some capacity.

One strange thing about her, though, was her interest in the paranormal. I might have expected it from a theology major if I didn't live in the Bible Belt.

She was constantly studying religious symbols and drawing them. She frequently taped papers filled with them to the walls; I had a feeling she would've painted them right on if it weren't for dorm rules.

When she learned about Ben and I's adventure with the poltergeist, she was oddly interested. Afterwards, she began sharing her own numerous paranormal experiences.

I didn't really pay attention to those for a while. I knew some people were more sensitive to those sorts of things; I figured she was one of them.

When the tortures started, Bec was oddly interested. She always visited the scenes afterward. I was slightly surprised when she started making one of those weird crime-tracker boards in our room, tacks and evidence and string, the whole bit.

Of course, I figured it was just a normal, CSI superfan kind of deal. I never thought she'd find a pattern, or that she'd go to the next one.

Or that she would see me there.

**Notes: **_Thanks for reading, and please leave a review! Next time on **The Outlier**, Ella recounts her second paranormal encounter - this one a bit more stressful.  
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	3. The Cause

**Notes: **_Heyho, third chapter! I'm on a roll! Anyway, this time Bec and Ella will be having a little adventure. It's a multichapter one, so keep your eyes open!_

Bec ran in the door, slamming it behind her. I looked up from my reading quickly.

"Bec? It's 3 in the morning. Where were you?"

She stared at me as if she had seen a ghost. Hell, maybe she had. I never knew with her.

"You're here! Oh thank God… thank God. But, then, who was… who was that?!" She heaved, hand on her chest.

I hurriedly handed her my water, and she sat on the futon to chug it. As soon as she could speak, she said, "I found out where the next torture was. I went there, and… Rob. Oh my God, Rob was the victim. And the one doing the deed… Ella, it was you."

Floored, I stared at her. "I was torturing Rob?" My stomach dropped, then slung right back up. It tried to shove itself up my esophagus. Swallowing back bile, I asked, "What do you mean?"

Bec ignored me, getting up and pacing the small living space. "It must have been a shapeshifter. Or a skinwalker. Something, something… a doppelganger? No, those are rare. Only about three to five cases, depending on whether you look at just the States or the whole world…"

I took her spot on the couch, mulling over the words. "A shapeshifter?"

She stopped. "Yes. Yes, that must be it. A shapeshifter took your form and is committing crimes as you."

Something rattled the window. We both flinched, but soon a bird flew away. I calmed down and inquired further, "What does this mean?" I swept my arms out. "Is all that stuff you'd been talking about real?"

"Of course it is." Bec said. Confused, she looked at me. "You have encountered a poltergeist, correct?"

I nodded. Bec continued, "Then you should already know."

Fed up, I yelled, "Ghosts and shit are not the same as shape shifters! What are you gonna say next, vampires are real? Werewolves?!"

"Uh…"

I stormed into our room, slamming the door behind me.

—

"Ella? Ella, please come out. It's time for class." I awoke to Bec's voice outside my door. I was sleeping on top of the covers, my laptop beside me. I lazily hit the spacebar, and found a google search of the paranormal. Wow—what made me think Google would be able to answer?

I rolled out of the bed, my feet finding the little stool below. I couldn't help but wonder why Bec hadn't come in, but she must have realized I needed my space. "I'm coming," I mumbled.

I heard her walk away. I pulled on some clothes and opened the door. Bec hurried in and changed as well.

"I'm sorry about last night." She said as she yanked a shirt over her head.

I slipped into my shoes and started braiding my hair. "Don't be. It was my fault."

She was silent for a little while, trying to fix her thin blond hair, but gave up. As we walked out of the door, she said quietly, "We cool?"

I grinned. "We cool."

—

Fifteen minutes into our class, a police officer walked in. I folded the note Bec and I had been passing, discussing the case, and watched the officer as he spoke with our professor.

I nudged Bec. "What do you think he's here for?" I said quietly. Bec shook her head and moved her pen.

Handing her the paper in my hands, she scribbled one word.

You.

My stomach dropped as the officer pointed at me. My professor confirmed our suspicions when she said, "Ella Ryker? This officer would like to speak with you."

I stood, my legs jelly, my mouth cottony. Collecting my things, I nodded and stumbled out of the row, tripping down the aisle.

I followed the officer out of the classroom. He didn't stop, instead leaving the hall and unlocking a squad car parked in front. I froze as soon as we were outside.

"Ma'am, please don't make this difficult. We just need you for questioning." He motioned towards the car. His partner, a woman with dark hair and skin, was sitting in the driver's seat.

Finally I relented. "Okay."

Relieved, the young officer opened the back door. I slid in and tried to ignore the hand-shaped gap in the seat behind me. I just tried to be happy that I wasn't in cuffs.

—

I was lead into the precinct by he female officer, as the other one had to make a report. She chatted with me, but she seemed hostile. Finally, I asked her name.

"Officer Bette Jackson." She told me, her expression softening. My voice had been shaky. "I'm assuming you know what you're here for?"

"Yes." I confirmed, trying to keep my eyes on hers.

"How?" She asked, a puzzled look crossing her face. "How do you know?"

I sighed, not willing to rat out Bec but knowing I would have to. Maybe it would help prove me innocent. "My roommate has been following the events. She went to the latest one while it was happening; she figured out a pattern. She said she saw me."

The officer gave me a sharp look. "What's her name?"

"Rebecca Jaenisdottir."

"Thank you." The officer said as she led me into an interrogation room. The walls were hard concrete, one of them interrupted by a smooth mirror. I tried not to look at it, knowing from all the crime shows what would be on the other side.

I stood in front of the simple wooden table, unsure what to do. "Sit down on the other side," Officer Jackson told me, "I'll be right back."

She walked out and locked the door behind her. My heart started beating, and I couldn't help but tear up. How was I supposed to get out of this?

I was still standing in the middle of the room when Jackson came back, another officer with her. She gently took my arm and guided me to my seat, then pulled a pack of tissues out of her pocket.

"I thought you might need these—looks like I was right," She said, and I touched my cheeks. Sure enough, they were covered in tears.

Numbly, I sat down in the seat, pulling apart the packet. As I dabbed at my face, the second officer spoke. He had a gruff voice, and his eyes were shrewd. "What is your name?"

I hurried to put down the tissue. Sniffing, I said, "Isabella Ryker."

"Very good… and where were you last night?"

"In my dorm room. 217 in Maurelian Hall, Christian Brothers University." I folded my hands in front of me on the table. "I was reading a book, but I did look something up online. You can check my internet history. It was at about midnight, maybe 12:30."

He turned to Jackson, who whispered to him. I had trouble hearing, but I figured out his name was Carr. Finally, Jackson continued.

"Jackson tells me your roommate witnessed the crime. Saw you."

"She didn't tell you?" I asked, confused. "I thought that was how you knew about…"

Understanding lit Jackson's eyes. "No, the victim was awake. First to not slip into a coma; one Robert Schreiner."

"Rob." I whisper. "Bec told me it was him."

"And this Rebecca was at the scene?" Carr continued, angry that Jackson had just told me apparently sensitive information.

"Yes."

"How did she know?"

I answered, "She had one of those CSI things in our room. String, tacks. I think she found a pattern." My stomach churned at the thought of what she had gotten herself into.

"Well, that explains one thing. We'll have to talk to her, as well."

**Notes: **_Thanks for reading! If you could leave a review, that would be great. Next time on **The Outlier**, things get serious, and Ella has to make a quick decision._


	4. The Effect

**Notes: **_Here's the fourth chapter! I've been trying to figure out a posting schedule, and I'm thinking I'll drop a chapter every Wednesday, and if it's below 1,000 words like the second chapter was, you'll also get one on Sunday. Thanks for sticking with me this far; now, things get a wee bit more exciting._

Bec finished explaining, and i just sat there. What in the world was going on? A shapeshifter?

"What did you tell the police?" I asked her, trying to figure this all out.

"I told them I'm hoping to write crime novels, and this helped me gain an understanding of the police's methods. They bought it, and that I probably just mistook the perpetrator for you."

I flopped onto the couch, releasing a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "Oh, thank god." I realized there was one thing I hadn't asked her. "And Rob?"

"He's fine, just in a coma. They think he'll pull through still able to play sports." I was relieved; Bec's boyfriend's one true passion had been soccer.

Bec tried to be cool as she walked over to the mini fridge, but she was obviously on edge. "I'm glad the police are off our tail, but it's gonna be hard to operate with them on edge."

"Operate?" I asked, heart speeding up as she said this.

"Yes." A mischievous glint shone in her eyes, and I found myself intrigued. "We got to kill it, Ella."

Killing things. Great. "You know I'm a pacifist, Bec."

"Is that why you blabbed to the police?"

I couldn't help but gape at her.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you to wait for an attorney before saying anything?" She asked me, cracking open a can of soda. I shook my head, stomach hitting the floor.

I swallowed, my mouth cotton-dry. "But I was innocent," I floundered, "I thought…"

"Doesn't matter what you thought." Bec said as she sipped her Coke. "They take your Miranda Rights seriously—you talk, they twist."

Ashen, I stood up. "I'm going to bed."

"You do that," Bec said lightly. "I'm going out."

I waved her off, clutching my head as I felt a headache coming on. "Text me if anything bad happens."

She muttered, "Yeah, yeah yeah…" before slipping off into the night, wary of any security guards.

—

I jolted awake to a single pinging sound, a light film of sweat over me. I shivered in the cold night air, searching the nightstand for my phone. I cursed as I knocked it off, but finally opened it.

Cringing from the blinding light, I read the text.

help m

† bec †

As soon as the words registered, I flipped on the lights. The large board on the other side of the room glared at me as I pulled on a pair of sweats, and I nearly tripped as I leaned in to see it. Damn, I was blind.

"Kendrick… oh no, Kenrick Hall. Shit." I deciphered the building with a huge red circle around it, and the date.

Luckily she was close, and had clearly marked the location. I began to rush from the room, only stopping to look at the box on Bec's desk.

"There's some important things in there," she'd said. "If one of us is ever in danger, you get it, ok?"

I grabbed the box, tearing off the lid. More of Bec's words rang in my ears.

"Now shifters, they're tricky, All the lore on them is different, but the one consistent thing is how you kill 'em—silver to the heart. You only get one chance."

Sifting through the contents of the box (weapons mostly, plus a few small books), I found a silver butterfly knife. I flipped it open, and upon seeing the pointy end, I split and run.

—

Kenrick Hall had once been a grade school before catering to the college. I was usually charmed by the quaint lockers lining every hall, but tonight, they seemed to be holding secrets behind weak metal hinges.

I gripped the knife in my hand, listening for the telltale cries of torture.

I had nearly given up hope when a muffled yelp sounded behind me. I pivoted, eyes locked on the classroom, and crept up.

I could barely see the figures through the frosted glass panes set high in the door. As I got closer, I began hearing words; "kill you slowly," "make you beg," "what's it like," friend killing you." I shivered at the last one.

I prayed that the hinges had been oiled recently, and gripped the doorknob. I opened the door swiftly and called upon every fiber of my being as I threw the knife.

It embedded itself in me.

I shrieked as I fell, then ran to Bec. I jumped over my dead body and groped at the knots of rope, but gave up and retrieved the knife from the corpse.

I tried not to retch as I pulled the silver from my own body; no, not mine. A shifter. It was real.

Bec's gasping wrenched me from my trance, and I hurried to free her. As I cut the ropes, her sobs grew louder.

"Bec. Bec, listen to me. We have to get out of here. I'm going to my car." I hurriedly wiped the handle of the knife, and placed it in her hand. "You did this, okay? You killed me, you got out. Go and get the campus police."

She finally looked at me, what little color had been in her face draining. Shit. "Bec, stay with me. Tell them you're leaving the school. Pack up your things, and take some of mine, like my books and some clothes. Then come to my car—pretend its yours. Get in and drive."

Bec nodded, the movement nearly imperceptible. I tried to ignore the cuts on her face, the obvious break in her arm. I didn't consider the bruises she would bear, or the ribs she would need wrapped. I just sprinted.

—

I'd been in the car for several hours before my blanket was lifted. A duffel was thrown at my head, and I moved it to look at Bec.

"Hey," I said weakly unsure as her eyes widened.

"Yo." She replied, wriggling her fingers. Her left arm was bent into a cast, held tightly to her side by a sling. "Where we headed?" She closed the door before I could answer.

"Ben's house." I breathed, knowing she was just ignoring me so no one would know I was here. "Are you… I mean, um… are you and I—"

"We're fine." She said bluntly as the car sidled up to a security booth. She flashed her ID and the guard nodded, waving her through. I was never more thankful that my black hair matched the interior of my Spark.

"Oh, thank god." I whispered, Leaning back. I shoved my duffel under my head.

Bec was silent for a couple minutes before asking me, "Ben lives down by Cooper Young?"

"Yeah, on Evelyn." I replied, closing my eyes. Now that we were off campus, I felt safer.

My head spun as we careened through corners. I barely felt the breaks as we crawled to a stop in front of Ben's house.

I sat up, shaking the blanket off of me, and pulled myself out of the car. Dawn's fingers were gripping the sky as we scurried into the backyard; I turned to Bec and asked for her phone.

"Why?" She whispered back, a confused look crossing her face.

"I don't have it. I dropped it back at the, uh. Scene." I hissed. Finally holding the phone, I typed in the correct number and counted the rings.

One. Nothing.

Two. Bedroom light on.

Three. Silhouettes of pillows.

Four. A boy standing in front of the window.

Five. A voice.

"Hello?" Ben rasped, his voice stained with sleep.

I felt happiness seep through my tired body. "Ben," I practically sobbed.

"Ella? What's going on?"

"Will you let us in?" I quavered, fighting to keep the actual tears away.

The curtain was yanked aside, revealing Ben's shaggy brown hair and piercing green eyes. The face and voice disappeared as quickly as they had come. "Hold on."

Mere seconds later, I tumbled into Ben's arms, my body beginning to shake. "Ben, I'm dead."

Taken aback by my outburst, Ben only said, "My mom's asleep," and led us up to his room.

Once we were all seated in his room with cups of hot chocolate, Bec and I explained what had happened. Ben's mouth eventually stopped closing at all, and his hot chocolate solidified.

"I know it's hard to believe," I admonished, draining the last of my own mug. Bec nodded sagely, wincing.

Ben shook his head, moving to place his mug on the nightstand. "No, I believe you. There's some nasty shit out there. Dean, my mom's ex-boyfriend, fought it on a regular basis. He made sure I knew about it. But… dead? How can you be dead?"

"The shapeshifter had become me, had leeched my memories." I told him, feeling sick as I imagined the creatures sinking its claws into my brain. "My phone is even in that room."

"Which is why you didn't call me on that." He connected, mind finally wrapped around the situation.

Smiling carefully, I told him, "But I had to tell you the truth. I couldn't bear the thought of you thinking I was really dead. You're one of my best friends. You and Bec are so important to me."

"Is it because you like people with 'Be' in their name? Is your other BFF named Beverley?" Ben joked.

I blushed, unwilling to admit how close to the truth that was.

Ben stayed still, mulling something over in his mind. He finally walked over to his dresser and picked something up.

"This is yours." He said, holding the object out to me. I accepted it, recognizing the life he'd given me. "You keep it; I can make a new one."

Even though the gesture was simple, I felt tears welling up behind my eyes. "Ben…" I blubbered, trying to wipe my tears away.

My best friend wrapped his arms around me, then pulled a large book off of a shelf. "Here," he said, flipping the cover open to reveal a large wad of cash.

Widening eyes on the money I tried to refuse. "Ben, I know what that's for. Please, no—"

"You are more important than a car, Ella. Besides, I'll be able to make up for it." He folded my hand around the money. "It's about $200. Use it for gas, and cheap food." He turned to Bec now. "Take care of her. I trust you, but I won't hesitate to find you and kill you if you let her get hurt."

Bec chuckled, standing from the beanbag she'd been reclining in. "Sure, short stuff."

As we dashed back out to the car, Ben waved from the front door. I waved back as long as I saw his house.

**Notes: **_I brought back Ben for you guys :') In my original plans, he wasn't going to be in more than that original storyline, and I even toyed around with not telling him about Ella's survival. Lucky for you I was nice! Next time on **The Outlier**, Ella and Bec hit the road._


End file.
